ICU In My Dreams
by Bethy1416
Summary: For people like Connie, admitting their errors and mistakes is something they struggle to carry out. So when she realises that ending her relationship with Jacob was the wrong thing to do, it takes her a while to get her pride in check and tell him the truth. But will Grace threaten their reconciliation? Jonnie. Casualty.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: First Casualty fic is here, and I'm surprised it's taken this long! And yes, I am aware the title is awful but I just couldn't let that pun go.  
_ _Just a few things to clear up before you begin reading:  
_ _I am not a doctor. Half the time I struggle to even decipher whether a cut requires a plaster or not, so please forgive any error in the technical speak I use.  
_ _This fic is based on Jonnie (Connie/Jacob) and their relationship. It's my sort of twist on them after their breakup and how they weave a path through it, and I have managed to slot a few of the Summer 2016 trailer scenes in. So there's a lack of casualties (unless you count the two of them that are suffering from broken hearts) and hospital speak. If ED practices are what you're looking for, they're not here I'm afraid. Also, I know that Jonnie have dealt quite well with the breakup on the show, but I just have fun making them suffer as it makes the happy ending even happier :P_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Casualty, nor the characters._

 _Okay, phew, hope you enjoy!_

 _ **~For Jorja~**_

She lies in bed, her mind too jumpy to even consider closing her eyes and hoping sleep will subdue her. She gazes into the darkness of her room from beneath the tresses of hair that have fallen across her face. The looming tenebrosity beckons like a black hole, sucking thoughts out from locked depths of her brain and removing any positivity that still lurks in her being. She feels each guilty throb of her heart and hears the pumped blood rush in her ears. Each breath makes her lungs ache and the guilt grow.

Today, Connie Beauchamp let a girl die.

* * *

He flings the sheets from his body, angrily shoving himself off the mattress and going to his adjoining bathroom. He cups his palm beneath the faucet then brings it to his lips to take a long drag of the night-chilled water. God damn his conscience. That's what's to blame for this, after all. This seemingly incurable insomnia being fueled by his subconscious. That's a lie. He has a pretty good idea what his mind is trying to tell him, but he refuses to satisfy it simply because he's the _good guy_. He and Connie are no longer responsible for one another. She'd made that abundantly clear. No matter how much they hurt, it's not down to the other to be a confidant. He gets that. He wishes it isn't like it is, but he knows it has to be. In fact, no. He has no idea what encouraged her sudden change of heart, he's not privy to that information.

He pauses. Hands gripping each side of the sink. This thought process is not helping. It's getting him riled up. He pushes off the porcelain and goes back into his room, flopping down onto his bed again. Word around Holby today was that a young girl, eight, had been lost, not even making it to the HDU, whilst under the care of Clinical Lead, Constance Beauchamp.

He knows Connie, knows that this passing will be taunting her mind and weighing overbearingly on her heart. He has no doubt that she's tasted the bitter cocktail of blame, guilt and self-hatred tonight. She may be the queen of the surly façade but he's aware that that's exactly what it is; a façade. Beneath the stoic expression she has a heart; she has a heightened sense of emotion. Perhaps it's because of that that she wears the brave mask as she does.

He huffs and squints against the harsh light of his phone screen as he checks the time; one twenty-four a.m. He drops back against the now flattened pillows and stares at the ceiling, his arms splayed out across the duvet. He thinks of her out there. An eighteen minute drive from where he is now. He wonders if she's awake, whether she's lying in bed or sat on her sofa, contemplating the day's events. Maybe she's even asleep. He hopes it's not a restless slumber, a grouchy Mrs B is a ferocious horror, but one he can't help smirking about.

He tosses and turns for another half hour, dwindling time away with concerned thoughts of his loved one. He misses her; their closeness; the flirty, _knowing_ looks across the room; the consolance of being in each other's company enough to soothe any worries.

But he doesn't have her to soothe his worries. And he's concerned that she doesn't have him, as he's reasonably certain that she is drowning in a pool of fear and self-loathing as he lies here thinking of her.

* * *

Her eyes tighten and scrunch up as her fists clench, her lips quivering as inaudible murmurs roll from her tongue with erratic puffs of breath. Her head is restless against the crumpled pillow, but it continues to loll back into the dip that had formed in the padding throughout the night. She's curled on her side with her arms brought in front of her face protectively, as if to defend herself from the inevitable demons that would stalk her slumber. She's suddenly startled awake, her hand immediately coming up to grip the wrist that belongs to the fingers which are lightly pressed into the flesh of her upper arm.

"Shh," a hushed voice soothes. She tries to focus her eyes in the dim lighting to see the features of the figure knelt on her bed. At first she thinks it's Grace, but as her brain becomes a little more cooperative she realises the wrist she's gripping is far too hefty to be that of an eleven year old girl.

"Jacob?" she asks, her senses becoming more aware of the situation. "What're you-"

He hears the vulnerability of a woman defeated by a nightmare ring in her weary voice. "Let's leave all questions until tomorrow," he whispers into her ear as he quietly sinks into the mattress beside her. Too dazed with her sleep fogged mind she lets her head fall back on the pillow as his arm slides around her waist and his t-shirt clad torso presses against her back. They lie still together. Each brain frantic with yelling thoughts, but none making it past their lips. Silently grateful for his familiar, warming embrace, Connie says nothing, doesn't fight or think of the consequences of their actions. She just lets him hold her.

Several minutes pass before he murmurs, "Are you okay?"

She tilts her head towards him, the first movement she's made since he'd abruptly nestled in beside her. "I thought we said leave questions 'til tomorrow?"

She feels him nod against her neck, as if to say 'touché' and tightens his hold on her without speaking another word. They both know that that answer was a clever brushoff of a conversation she doesn't want to have. She sounded quiet and defeated. She hates being so weak. But I just need sleep, she thinks, and the miraculous ability to bring a child back to life…

* * *

She wakes first, as is often the case. It takes her a hazy moment to realise that the accustomed warmth of having a body pressed along hers is no longer meant to be so casual and familiar. She stiffens. Then she acknowledges the time; only ten minutes before she has to wake Grace to get ready for school. All ideas of manners and keeping calm are gone as she sits upright, shoving his arm onto the mattress where her body had just been, and clambering from the bed. Jacob rouses and is immediately thrown into a storm of confusion and irritation.

"Connie?" He asks, pushing himself up on his elbows and training his eyes on her as she pads around the room.

"Come on, up!" She orders, picking up his shoes and jacket from where she's finding them on the floor.

"Con-"

"No, you have to go. Now!"

His brows furrow together in puzzlement and rejection. "What's wrong, Sweet Chee-"

"Enough!" she snaps, finally looking at him. The anger in her voice making him stop and gaze right at her. The eye contact obviously awakens something deep inside her as her voice softens, eerily close to the saddened, weary tone she'd used last night. "I need you to leave, please."

"Alright…" he replies calmly. He stands from the bed and goes towards her as she waits in front of the closed bedroom door. He accepts his belongings from her outstretched arms, watches her for a brief moment, then side steps and walks past, opening the door and leaving. She runs her palms over her face and up to her hairline as she brushes her hair back. Her ears are strained for the sound of the door clicking shut downstairs, and only when she hears it does she step onto the landing. Leaning against the threshold she stares at the wall opposite her and a reel of yesterday's events, from entering work to falling asleep with her ex-lover pressed against her, plays in her mind.

Then, she snaps into mother mode and dazedly makes her way down the stairs to begin preparing breakfast.

* * *

It feels like the globally recognised 'walk of shame,' except he's driving. The famous return home the morning after. Although this is the morning after he'd innocently slumbered beside his ex - if they could count each other as that - and is now going home to prepare for the day's shift he'll be spending with the aforementioned ex. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he has considered calling in sick, but he shan't back down from this one. No, not Mrs B.

So as he pulls off his confident stride into the ED, he goes on to continue his shift with perfected routine and charm; he smiles at the ladies, spreads a little cheer, jokes with the guys. And of course, delivers flawless medical jargon and procedures.

It's only when he exits the break room from lunch does he nearly have a collision with the pussycat herself. He holds up his hands in apology and defence as she stares him down with smoldering eyes of white hot fury, then continues on her way. She had definitely just branded her name on his mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

The list of people to avoid for the day was too long, yet surprisingly it is a Staff Nurse that's ruling the top slot. Considering the questionable ethics of yesterday's practice, she has figures of authority populating the majority of the undesirable encounters she could happen across today, so personal matters should not be primary when there are evidently bigger fish to fry.

It's just before midday when the first of those people in high places manages to obstruct her work. The on-the-spot interrogation leaving her irritated and angry. The least they could have done was allow her the privacy of an office.

So when she nearly gets run into by the king of the list as he exits the break room, she huffs, contemplates dealing with him now, then thinks better of wasting her time.

She's sitting in her office, the first time in nearly four hours, with her shoes secretly slipped off beneath the desk. All she wants is to be home, in the bath or on the sofa, Grace content, investigation into her practice over with, love life hassle _non-existent_. But that's asking for a lot, she realises. It's nearing the end of shift, which means nothing for her, just a different group of people to keep in line. But then she sees Jacob, clad in casual clothes, standing on the far side of the nurses' station talking with Charlie. She supposes the end of shift means that she's accomplished an entire eleven hours without having any verbal confrontation with him…

She continues filling out paperwork and draining the last mouthfuls of cooling coffee from the take away cup she'd bought at the café in reception. When she looks up again, he's gone and there's only a few people trickling in ready for their night shift. Suddenly she jumps, and fails at masking it, when someone knocks at the door and enters without consent. Staff Nurse Masters. So she's not accomplished anything she'd set out to do today, seeing as he's evidently about to start the conversation she'd aimed to avoid.

"I didn't mean to make you jump," he begins, although the slight smirk on his lips suggests her startle amused him. She says nothing, just slots some papers into a filiere. "Charlie advised I come talk to you."

"Great! So not only did you break into my house and charge into my office, you also discussed my love life with Charlie," she exclaims, looking at the man before her.

He steps closer to her desk, "Calm down, Sweet Cheeks, our business is solely ours. He wanted me to check on you. After yesterday."

"Why can't he do it himself?"

"He tried to earlier," he states, recalling the older man telling him about Connie brushing him off mid sentence. Evidently she remembers the scene as he sees her bow her head in acknowledgement of her error.

"Right. Well, seeing as you're here, I want to remind you that breaking in is a crime and if you do it again-"

"You'll what? Call the police? See, I know you. I know you're angry. But even Connie Beauchamp has enough of a heart to not put her… _lover_ and employee in bracelets."

"You want to bet?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She gazes at him incredulously. "You know what? Talking through my life errors and personal relations with my ex sounds like just _perfect_ therapy."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

She drops her eyes to the desk, hoping he gets the hint to leave. He lingers a moment then heads to the door. When she thinks she's about to be free of the heightened tension in the room, he stops and turns back to her.

"I have tried, Con. I have tried giving you space and time. I've tried to be civil and patient. I don't know what you want from me. Clearly I was out of line last night, so, for that, I am sorry. But it seems whatever I do I do wrong."

She sighs and straightens her blouse. "I have to prioritise Grace," is all she responds in a hushed tone.

"I get that, she's your daughter. What I don't get is why you had to sacrifice me. For what? I won't get in the way of your time with Grace, I'd hoped you'd known that."

She did, but Grace didn't. "It's been made clear to me that I can only juggle two things at once, and for me, that's the job and Grace."

"Who told you that? Sam?"

Now some anger boils to the surface, "I don't need life advice from him."

"Then who?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's the thing, you never will. God, I wish I could hate you-"

"You should try, it seems to work for people round here."

"That's not true. The nurses and doctors in your department have respect for you, myself included. But I can't keep up with this act."

"And what act is that?" she asks, fiddling with her thumbs as her arms rest on the desk.

"That I don't care." His eyes train steadily on hers as she looks up at his face for one of the few times in the conversation. She doesn't say anything and he can tell she has no response to what he'd just said, so he breaks their gaze and leaves.

When she gets home, Grace is in the living room with an exercise book open on her lap and pen bouncing in her fingers.

"Grace, sweetie, what have I told you about watching television whilst doing your homework?" she chides gently as she walks past to drop her bag and coat on the chair.

"You said you'd be back by eight."

Feeling guilty, Connie doesn't comment on her daughter's swift change of topic. "I know," she sighs, "I'm sorry. I got held up."

The babysitter, or as Connie prefers, _The Flake,_ comes through the doorway between the kitchen and living room and greets her, then updates her on the details of the evening.

"Thank you for staying, I'm sorry I'm late." She sifts through her wallet and hands over some notes and points out the extra fiver as compensation for her delay. They each bid farewell to the woman and Connie shows her out then returns to the living room. She sits on the sofa beside Grace and takes the book from her daughter's lap then scans over the neat handwriting on the page.

"How many more questions have you got to do?"

"Two," the girl replies, more interested in the TV than her homework.

"Come on then, come sit with me at the table and we'll do it while I eat."

Connie prepares a salad with a slice of quiche, although she's unsure whether it's completely safe to eat after a quick sniff in the box suggests it's had tastier times. She sits alongside her smaller self and offers guidance on the dull questions that's been set for homework and when it's complete she sends Grace upstairs to get ready for bed.

As she sits alone at the dining table in the kitchen, she slides her phone across the surface from where she'd abandoned it earlier. She flicks the screen on and sees that there's multiple missed calls from those looming over her head and demanding answers, so deletes the notifications as any pissed off woman would. Connie hears the soft pad of Grace's feet overhead as she enters the bathroom and wonders what runs through her mind. She'd liked Jacob, until she saw them kissing; she'd not noticed the time her mother was spending with him, until she realised they were together; she'd been content without knowing of their relationship, and she was content when she thought it was no longer. And all this makes Connie think; why? Grace could have felt threatened by him, perhaps she figured he'd be priority instead of her, or she was afraid that he was going to pull her mother away from her - keep her all to himself - or maybe she was simply jealous that she wouldn't be the only person in her mum's life anymore.

Connie taps in a message but doesn't click send, instead she switches the screen off as Grace walks down the stairs.

"Mum?"

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she calls over her shoulder. Receiving no response, Connie pushes her chair back and walks through to the living room to see Grace standing at the bottom of the stairs. "What's the matter? Grace?"

She sees the line between her daughter's eyebrows and knows that it's a result of over thinking, as she gets a similar one when she's pensive. "Are you lonely?"

Now it's Connie's turn to furrow her eyebrows, but with confusion and shock instead of deep thought. "Lonely? No, sweetheart, I'm not lonely," is the automatic response that leaves her mouth. "Why would you think that?" She signals for Grace to join her on the sofa. As she settles into the cushions Grace waits before her until she's stopped fidgeting and then tucks herself into her mother's side. Connie scoops up her girl's legs and slings them over her own, then wraps her arms around her shoulders; a makeshift cradle for a child that's physically too big, but mentally just young enough.

"Bridget asked me if you have a boyfriend."

Connie's insides flip, a curiosity, anger and irritability churning amongst her salad. "She shouldn't have asked you that," she snaps, but evidently annoyed with the babysitter, not her daughter.

"Why?"

"Because it's none of her business."

"I told her you weren't going out with anyone." Connie stays silent, just rests her cheek against the top of Grace's head. "She said that your job gets in the way of having a relationship."

"Grace, darling, I choose to have my job, if it bothered me that much I'd choose a different one. Besides, I've got you-"

"But you did have one."

"What?"

"You were in a relationship with Jacob."

Connie's unsure how to answer this, but it's clear Grace is waiting for her to. She sighs, and shuffles into a more upright position, keeping Grace still pressed to her, aiming to gain herself some time. "But things didn't work out."

"Because of _me_."

 _Yes_ , she thinks, but what mother is going to confess that to their child? She sits up now and turns to look Grace in the eye. "Darling… what happened with Jacob and I… well, I need to look after you now. You're my priority."

"So it _is_ my fault?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I need to put you first and I can't be worrying about other people."

"But that's your job."

Connie smiles to herself, perhaps she sees herself shine through in Grace's pedantic side… "You know too well what I meant. Now come on, bedtime."

She gets up then takes Grace's hand and hauls her off the sofa.

When she's tucking her into bed, Grace looks up at her. "If you're lonely, I don't mind if you have a boyfriend. Just as long as we can still have our TV time on Sunday night."

Connie smiles in appreciation, kisses her daughter on the head and whispers a goodnight before leaving. When she returns downstairs she puts her used crockery in the dishwasher, pours herself a glass of wine, then relaxes on the sofa with her legs tucked up. Her phone sits beside a coaster on the coffee table in front of her and she considers the text she'd prepared earlier. Then thinks better of it and plods up the stairs to bed.

* * *

He'd be lying if he'd said that he hadn't been hoping Connie would contact him last night. For some reason he felt she would after their conversation in her office yesterday. If there's one thing he's noticed about Connie Beauchamp, it's that she likes to have the last word and she's not said anything since he'd delivered his final line. If he's being brutally honest, he wants a fight from her. Wants a reaction. At least that way they could get the entire ordeal over with and find a way to weave a path through their current predicament.

He'd indulged in pizza and beer yesterday evening with nothing more than endless comedies and documentaries for company. He wasn't celebrating the awakening of self pity with a party for one, but rather allowing himself to brood in a way only a man can. And apparently that included sleeping through his alarm.

He runs through the ED doors and hopes his late arrival isn't noticed, as any person would. But, he should have known that involving himself in personal matters with the boss was going to come back and sink it's teeth into his backside one day.

"Staff Nurse Masters, you're late," he hears over his shoulder. He freezes like a schoolboy caught in the act of skiving and grimaces before turning to confront, what he can only describe as, a face of slow burning fury.

"Apologies, Boss."

"You do realise you're half an hour late to a shift? In a place like this, that's the line between life and death."

"Good job you know how to get yourself in on time then, isn't it?" He regrets the cheeky remark as soon as the words pass his lips.

She steps closer, her features tightening. "I've told you before, and I'm going to tell you again, sleeping with me does not give you an advantage over others. I am still your boss, you understand?" she snaps, lowering the finger she has pointed at him between their bodies, as if to jab him in the chest.

He nods, guilt turning down the corners of his mouth. She aims one final gaze into his eyes, then struts off to collect files at reception. He can't help but stand there a little stunned, questioning her word choices. He's no longer sleeping with her, but he's to assume that the principle's still maintained?

After that confrontation, he plays the shift safe and doesn't fall into the familiar role of hero and class clown. Perhaps giving into her and not trying to challenge her is the best way to go? He's not usually one to take the easiest route, but who's to say it _is_ the easiest?

* * *

Connie's mind is driving her crazy so she must keep busy. Keep on the go and keep treating patients. She's got a battle of conflicting emotions purging her mind of any clarity and understanding. She wishes desperately to shut it off, just for an hour, because a slight dip in the noise around her and she's distracted by the colossal weight in her head. That's why she forces herself into alleviating patients in cubicles and lingers there most of the day. Jacob seems to have been picked up on the critical cases and is, surprisingly, rarely seen, by her at least, around the nurses' station the entire shift. The constant soundtrack of phones and talking and papers rustling means her mind doesn't have the quiet to contemplate. She's not even sure what there is to consider.

Once again, it's nearing the end of one shift and smoothly transitioning onto the next. Still she's not seen him. Connie hadn't been too concerned about his presence, she can handle being in a room with him if the situation arises, but she can't help but be surprised that she'd spent all day in cubicles and not seen him once. Perhaps he's gone home sick?

She sits in her office and inks her name onto several blank lines, signing off patients and accounting for the drugs and medication they've used the past day. When she finishes, she pushes the files aside and leans back in the chic white office chair. Her mind is in a right tizz. She knows it's about Grace's words, about the possibility of rekindling a relationship. But what right does she have to go crawling back to a man she'd reprimanded only this morning? And should she really try to salvage the relationship he'd tried to use as a get out clause for his error? The point at which she'd tackled him with verbal abuse because he thought he could give her back chat.

All of the answers to these questions are warning signs, ones urging her to not look back, to not consider the issue any longer. But she blanks out the blaring sirens in her head and marches on. They were happy. He made her happy, and that in itself was one mountain he'd escaladed that others had given up on. Grace makes her happy, of course, but it isn't the same. It's a joyous affair, motherhood, but so much pain has been plunged into her heart. Every missed call, every lost day, every cruel word… it all amounted to so much heartache. And she's had that with Jacob- heartache- but the relationship she'd had with him allowed her to receive as well as give. He'd provided her with contentment that her daughter can't, and Connie certainly doesn't expect her to in some circumstances. It was just different, and nice.

And after all, Grace has expressed her, albeit naive, understanding of her mother's situation. So what's holding her back, other than her pride?


	2. Chapter 2

Again, the routine spins back to the start and Jacob waltzes into the ED, on time today, however. He heads to reception to pick up a file after dropping his things into his locker, ready to get the shift rolling, but it's all halted when Noel calls his name, as if suddenly remembering something.

"Jacob! Mrs Beauchamp told me she wanted to see you in her office at the end of shift."

"Right, okay… Did she tell you what it was about?"

Noel shook his head, "Nope. She told me before she left yesterday."

"Okay, well I'll go and see her now then, get it over with."

"You can't, she's not in yet."

He gives his thanks then turns his back, momentarily pondering what this spontaneous meeting is about and why it is that Mrs Connie Beauchamp is running late. After a few seconds of consideration, a deep, chesty cough of someone in the waiting room brings him back to the present and he calls the name of his first patient, then takes them through to cubicles. _Hypocrite,_ he thinks.

Connie's looming appointment with him had him on tenterhooks all day, watching every move he made in case she was observing. He'd been late yesterday, maybe she'd decided to use that as a cause for kicking him off the team. Maybe she'd found out about him slipping an extra sandwich to a patient on his last shift, although that's hardly an offense, he thought. All day he was questioning what her motive was, and in every plausible situation he concocted the outcome was never good. But in the more incredulous of possibilities, he'd wondered if this evening's meeting would result in a heartfelt admission to her feelings for him - although he'd never confess to such a daydream aloud.

When the end of his shift ticks past, he's in the process of switching a drained bag of saline with one bulging of the liquid. The task is customary, as natural to him now as eating, he has no doubt that he could perform the procedure with his eyes closed. But he does not try. Instead, he gives the patient's hand a squeeze, wishes her goodnight and goes to the break room to collect his things from his locker. He then heads to Connie's office. As he walks there, he exhales a deep breath and sends his worries with the gust of air, relaxing his features and letting calmness wash over him. He knocks and peers through the glass pane in her door, deciding to wait for a response this time. Except her chair is empty.

"Connie's not been in," Rita calls over her shoulder as she taps on the keyboard in the nurses' station. She turns then to face Jacob. "I think she's home with Grace."

"Is she ill?"

"I think Grace is."

He grunts, thanks her, then heads home.

* * *

She doesn't like missing work, the place seems to struggle without her. She'd be quite shocked if she goes in tomorrow and the place is still standing. But she'd decided to stay with Grace. When she'd called Bridget to inform her she wasn't required today, the woman had offered to take care of Grace but Connie had kindly declined. She didn't miss the minder's fumbling tongue as she tried to create a response she evidently thought she'd never need. Apparently her minder believed Connie would run at the first sight of vomit. She must forget that Connie deals with other people's bodily businesses on a daily basis. The brunette doctor had rolled her eyes and snarled silently at the woman on the phone.

So instead of cleaning up strangers' sick, she'd been cleaning up her daughter's. Well, that's a slight lie. She's not usually the one to clean it up when working. But today she'd taken on the role of Mummy, doctor and cleaner. And a wiped out combination she is. It had all started at four a.m.…

It had been a long, long day for the both of them. Grace had slept but Connie had refused to drift off in case she missed her daughter's calls or even worse, her choking… So when there's a knock on her door at about nine o'clock that night, Connie contemplates ignoring it but then there's another knock and she decides to answer it before the caller starts ringing the doorbell and wakes Grace upstairs.

She pulls her fleece jacket tighter around her and crosses her arms to hold the two sides of material in place. When she walks close enough to the door to see a familiar silhouette through the frosted glass, it's too late to turn back because she knows he's already seen her too. She brushes loose strands of hair out of her face that have been worked free from her ponytail throughout the day and unlocks the door, removing the chain she'd slid in place ready for the night.

"Jacob?" she asks as she pulls the door open wide enough for her body to fit in the gap, to keep the cool night air out and to keep the noise minimal for her slumbering daughter.

"I got the message about you wanting to see me."

"Oh. Yes," what with everything she'd been occupied with today, she'd forgotten entirely about the meeting she'd arranged. "Sorry, I haven't been in."

"Is Grace okay?"

"She's just got a tummy bug. No doubt she'll be back to her usual smarts and sarcastic comments in a couple of days." This lighthearted response earns a smile from them both.

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Yes, I haven't caught it. My immune system should make me practically immortal by now, like the rest of us that work in that ED."

He anxiously smiles. "Good… so uh… Why is it you wanted to see me?"

"We don't have to do this now, we can just wait until our shifts sync again."

"Sorry, but I've been waiting all day for this meeting, you can't just brush me off and have me fretting about it for the next thirty-six hours."

"Well… alright," she tucks her head back inside the house, listening out for Grace, then steps onto the porch and pulls the door to behind her. "I… just wanted to apologise for my somewhat _impertinent_ reprimand yesterday."

Jacob feels slightly annoyed by her apology. He'd been building up the entire thing in his head all day, worrying and being anxious about the possible outcomes. Then he'd driven here, which was hardly out of his way, but to find out it had simply been for an apology that could have been said through text or phone call, he can't help feeling a little irked. Nevertheless, he knows it takes a lot for Connie to put her pride and stubbornness at bay and acknowledge a mistake.

"You were just doing what you had to do."

"No, I was doing what Rita had to do. It wasn't my place."

"Okay… Thanks…" They stay silent, standing before one another, a tension buzzing between them. Suddenly he clears his throat, which gets her attention and she looks up at his face. "Was… Was that all?"

She hesitates then stammers out a 'yes'. He nods, drawing his lips in tight and turns to walk to his car as she watches a moment then retreats back inside. She's just pressing the door shut, trying to keep quiet, when there's a force challenging hers. She peers through the gap between the door and the frame and sees a hand pushing against the glass, not in a threatening way, just using enough force to keep the door from closing. She eases it back a bit to reveal more of her face as Jacob's comes into her own view. His features are relaxed, but his gaze intense, his plump lips slightly parted.

"That couldn't have been all you wanted to see me about," he prompts as she pokes her head through the gap.

"I wanted to apologise, that's all. I felt I owed you that."

"You could have text."

"Look, if I'd remembered that I'd asked to see you today, I would have left you a message to save you the hassle. But I've been occupied and distracted, I'm sorry it's been a wasted journey."

"Do I have to drag it out of you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she murmurs, her eyes dropping to her slippered feet on the carpeted floor. Her whole outfit is mismatched and so loose it's beyond the right to be classified as casual wear. No doubt she has the somewhat offensive aroma of sweat, bleach and bile and her hair hasn't even seen the bristles of a brush today. Overall, she's an eyesore, a mess. But knowing that it all stems from the delight each parent must face makes her accept it with a love and pride she keeps only for Grace. And with her daughter's recent absence from her life, there's an entire reservoir of tenderness to drain.

There's another silence that gradually unfolds between them, his irritation making his fingers flex and twitch. She stands there, staring at the streetlamp reflection bouncing off the waxy tip of a leaf in her front garden, unwilling to force herself into a situation that would require more answers than she can possibly summon the energy to provide.

"I hope Grace gets well soon," he states, his voice monotone and void of any care. What does she expect if she doesn't even offer a token toward ending the pointless encounter?

Again, her tongue fumbles over a response and she manages to get out an audible 'thank you' as he walks away, his shadow being cast across the damp grass of her front lawn. She then continues with shutting the door and securing the chain in place ready for the night ahead, and this time no one stops her.

* * *

That woman is implausible, aggravating and so damn sexy even when she does smell and look like she's spent the night rough. He doesn't understand how he's still so tightly wrapped around her little finger whilst being one-hundred percent aware of her mind games. He just can't pull himself away, stop his ever optimistic approaches, control his _need_ for her. He wishes he could hate her. It would make him _want_ to leave the room when she walks in, it wouldn't start an internal battle when her name whirs in his mind as his head drops against the pillow. But, he supposes, she wouldn't be the last thing he'd think about as his eyelids droop and eyelashes flutter shut if he hated her.

Connie had occupied his attention and testosterone-driven need to impress since she'd first strutted into his vision. And nothing had changed since. Nearly a year's gone by. They've been together and now they're back where they started. Back to lustful glances and sassy one-liners.

He drops his keys onto the leather couch cushions and plods to the fridge, dragging his feet and huffing incomprehensible comments. He yanks on the handle with unnecessary force, freeing the chilled air and soft glow of the fridge light. He scans over the items. Nothing takes his fancy. He sinks a finger into the bowl of yoghurt and sucks the cool, sweet cream from his finger. But then he decides he's not hungry, and sulks off upstairs.

He takes a shower, hoping the pelt of water against him will beat the frustration from his being and ease the tension in his frame. It does to an extent. He's still irritable, the stubbing of his toe against the bed sending him cursing and turning the air blue. But he feels more capable of slipping beneath the covers and _trying_ to get some sleep. As he lies there he thinks of his shift, of the people he treated and the stories they brought with them. One woman, who admitted herself, had promptly withdrawn a tiny flailing mouse from her pocket, insisting it was the cause for her rash, yet claiming it was also her pet. Jacob had shared a few giggles with Robyn in the break room over that one.

And then of course his mind lands on the inevitable. Connie.

This time, sleep reaches him and pulls him under quickly. He sinks into a deep slumber, the hard shift and recent lack of sleep finally tripping him up.

He doesn't hear from or see Connie all of the next day, nor the day after that - most likely because he has the latter day off. It's good for him, he's certain. A bit of space to breathe and occupy his mind with other time consuming tasks in an environment that doesn't cause him to be reminded of her, how can it not be beneficial? But perhaps it's the surviving glow of a flickering flame inside him that makes this all seem like a good idea. Like any human with the prevalent need to be missed, he's hoping that his noticeable absence will encourage Connie to realise her error, see what she's missing. It's farfetched, and if he were to be fully aware of this rather daft hope, he'd think so, too.

There'd been a streak of adrenaline passing through him last night, he was anxious to get back to work. Maybe it was to see Connie's reaction, or maybe because he'd completed any available task around the house - including a jog - by three o'clock yesterday. This meant that he had had the rest of the afternoon and evening to sit and be intimidated by the silence. But now, there's anything but that as once again he strolls through reception and into the chaos of the ED. He must admit, he thrives from it; the energy and frantic rush making him feel worthwhile and bringing out his talent and charm.

Her hair is the first thing to catch his eye. He sees the beautiful dark curls as they walk past the gap in the curtain of the cubicle he's working in. He hears the commanding tones of her voice, the words indistinguishable by the distance and background noise, and he can't help but smile as he gets back to work. Once he's completed applying the cast to the patient's arm he goes to the nurses' station to see where he's required next. Rita's stood at a computer, the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder as she types on the keyboard.

"Rita, with me please," Connie calls as she rushes past and heads for the door to reception.

"I'm busy," the nurse states, throwing her hands in the air and gesturing to the chores she's multitasking. This causes Connie to finally look over at the station and pause.

"Right… Staff Nurse Masters." He turns to see her looking at him and then abides her signal for him to follow her. They hurry out to reception to greet the casualty being wheeled in on the trolley and Connie immediately starts barking out instructions and alphabet procedures.

"Let's take her through to Resus please. I want FBCs, Us and Es, and can we arrange for a CDT as well please. Let's get a line in and we need to keep a close eye on the BP, anything below ninety over sixty and we should get someone down from maternity to assess."

A woman, eight months into pregnancy, had collapsed and been admitted. She seems to be drifting in and out of consciousness and not very responsive. Connie has deducted that it's likely caused by dehydration, and everyone around her is scurrying about in order to complete her commands while she presses the cold head of her stethoscope against the pale chest of the lady lying helplessly.

A few hours later the results had come back from the lab and the bloods had proven Connie's diagnosis true. The low blood pressure had been brought on by dehydration. They continued to replenish the saline supply and keep the mother in overnight, the baby safe and surviving into the final month of being settled in their mother's belly.

Another shift complete. There were casualties more imbrued in their blood than the pregnant lady, the sights and pungent iron smell being all in a day's work, but lives had been saved no matter what the condition of admittance. That is why they're here.

So feeling rather accomplished, Jacob slings his jacket over his shoulder and leaves the break room. As he passes Mrs B's office, he hears her call his name. He pauses, then steps back to look through the doorway as she sits at her desk.

"Thank you for today," she says. He nods, gives a soft smile and continues on his way.

* * *

She runs. Every two to three steps interluded by a precise pant pushed through her lips. The drizzle outside making her forehead damp and tiny sprinkles of rain stick to the material of her thin running jacket as her trainers cause trails of muddy water up her calves. She's deep in thought, the small dent between her eyebrows becoming distinguished as she thinks harder. They'd worked well today. The team, her and Jacob more specifically. They'd worked together as they had before and during their relationship; professionally, flawlessly. It's getting dark out, dusk casting shadows along the pavement and turning her surrounding environment into a rolling scenery of silhouettes. She'd had a lot of pent up anger simmering when she'd returned home, so she'd stripped from her business clothes, sighing when spotting a blotch of rich crimson blood on the collar of her blouse, and impatiently wriggled into her running leggings and yanked on the thin jacket over her sports bra, zipping it up to her collarbone. No one had been home, Connie could only assume that Grace's ballet was overrunning again, so she'd left leaving no trace of her return.

She's beginning to feel the nagging poke of a stitch in her side so she lowers her pace, knowing too well it's due to her irresponsible abandonment of a proper warm up. She walks for a bit, the sudden slowing of the world around her making her pensive, even slightly emotional. The constant momentum of the day finally draining her as she wanders the pavement as a sole figure in the night. The blood that had been pumping in her ears and the rhythm of her shoes now falling quiet means there's quiet to prod at her mind. The past twelve hours had been brutal. The shift in itself was not particularly different to any other, but today her head's been full of thoughts sloshing pointlessly around, causing the first groaning aches of a headache that refuses to develop into anything more than an incessant throb. She knows it's the stress of the job, of her personal life, of her lack of sleep. She's constantly fretting about Grace, wondering if she's dealing with things she keeps to herself and whether, one day, she will come home from work to find Grace's bags packed and awaiting her father to pick her up. She's confused, on the edge of delirium it feels like sometimes, with her situation involving Jacob. Too many arguments and conflicting feelings biting at each other in her head, refusing to be organised and logical.

And it's that confusion and desperate need for clarity that results in Connie reading the name of his street off the sign opposite as she stands gingerly on the corner, looking from beside a shoulder-high bush towards his house. She glances round with her hands on her hips, inhales, exhales, then crosses the road. She pushes the flaking black gate open and walks up the small path and onto his porch. She waits there a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open, hoping that if it opens now then she'll have no choice but to see him. She raises a fist, tilts her head and mentally accuses herself of being stupid, then swivels on her heel to leave. She gets as far as the gate before telling herself that she's made the journey here, she may as well just say hello. So, again, she follows the path to his front door and knocks before her brain can convince her otherwise. He opens it quicker than she'd expected, or maybe she'd been distracted by the knots being twisted in her stomach, and her head shoots up to his face in surprise, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He looks at her with a more subtle, gentle shock seeping into his features as he takes her in, the disheveled hair and running gear.

"Jacob," she states, her tone sounding as if she's almost surprised to see him answering his own front door. He doesn't say anything, instead leans against the door frame and crosses his arms. He watches her as she searches for the right thing to say, her eyes boring into his and then darting away. "I'm sorry, I think this is a mistake, I'm just making a fool of myself."

She lingers for a few seconds then turns away when he gives no response. As she's about to step out from the porch he reaches for her and grasps her elbow, pulling her back under the shelter from the rain.

"Please, keep making a fool of yourself," he finally murmurs, turning her back to face him.

Her eyes glance up from her bowed head and she crams her raw fists into the pockets of her jacket. "I've done a lot of thinking," she begins, then smirks at herself for the clichéd line, "and I think I was wrong."

"About?" She gives him a pointed look, eyes pleading that he doesn't make her say it out loud. "Come on, Con, you're gonna have to do better than that."

"Fine," she drawls and rolls her eyes. "I messed up. May you please invite me in from this frigid night so we can… _talk_?"

He stands upright now, arms still crossed over his chest causing his muscles to flex, receiving an invisible shiver from the cold woman on his porch. He looks her over, evidently weighing up whether her answer is good enough to earn her passage into his home, then smirks and moves aside. She hesitates but then the rush of warmth that hits her icy cheeks from inside beckons and she steps through the threshold and brushes shoulders with him as she passes. He takes a final look out into the wet night with a smile on his lips, then shuts the door.


	3. Chapter 3

He follows her through to the living room and offers her a hot drink, which she politely declines, as she goes to the radiator and pushes her palms against the heated metal, then leans so that her bottom presses against the backs of her hands. She stays like that, warming her freezing knuckles after their persistent slicing through the cold rain with every swing of her arms. Her cheeks begin to tingle as the warm air seeps into her pores and the blush settled on her cheekbones subsides.

"Did you run all the way here?" he asks her from across the room.

She shrugs a little sheepishly, "Tried. My temper cut the warm up short, I walked some of it."

"Ah… Stitch?" he says, filling in the blanks. She nods. "Still. Not a bad effort." She shoots him a glare, telling him not to patronise her. He simply sits down on the couch with his hands clasped together and arms resting on his knees.

"I can't stay for very long," she informs him after a few moments pass by.

"Okay, you better get talking then."

She accepts this and tries to find the best place to begin. There are so many possible starting points, and how much should she tell him? What should she leave out? "I don't know what to say… Other than the _Ice Queen_ messed up and… wants to give it another try?"

He smirks as she meets his gaze, her referencing the nickname Elle had given her aiming to lighten the tone of the heavy tension in the room.

"Where is this coming from?" he asks, sitting up straighter, giving her his full attention.

She sighs, "I've had time to adjust, to reevaluate. When you and I were together, I didn't have the responsibility of being a parent, at least not a primary one. It changes a lot. I'd do anything for Grace, I always have and always will. And what she needed was me. _My_ love, _my_ attention. Before she moved to America, I was incapable of dividing my time, compartmentalising my work from my life, it really threatened her and I…"

"I understand that, Con. I'm not a parent, but I know the drill. I just don't get why that meant sacrificing _us_?"

"I… I was afraid that having you to consider as well was going to cause more harm than good. For her, for you, and me." What she says isn't a lie. It may not be the whole truth, but she means every word. She had been scared, scared that she'd mess everything up and make the situation worse than it already was. Scared that she would lose Grace to her father again. Scared that she would be the root cause for losing those she loves.

"So what has changed?"

She'd feel foolish if she confesses that the thing that's changed is that her daughter now gives her her blessing, her _permission_ , to be involved with someone. Many would argue that she's a grown woman, she can make her own decisions and put her child in their place, that she shouldn't be taking orders from an eleven year old. But other than this, what _has_ changed?

"Grace," she declares. His expression shifts to one of puzzlement. Now what's she supposed to say? "She's happy now. I want to be too."

He stands, narrowing his eyes as he approaches her, stopping just a couple of feet from her. "Connie Beauchamp, are you saying I make you happy?" She swallows, a coy smile ebbing onto her lips as her cheeks flush slightly. "Now, now, there's no need to be embarrassed," he chuckles.

"So? Will you forgive my blunt remarks and bitchiness the past few weeks?"

He closes the remaining gap between them, her uncertainty momentarily causing her throat to become dry and breath to get caught. He has had the upperhand since she turned up, not only because it's his house, but because she was the one that needed to grovel, to seek forgiveness, to make amends. But his current superiority means that he has the confidence to cup her cheek in his hand and slip his fingers around her neck to support the base of her skull. He pulls her closer from where she still leans on the radiator and her palms stroke up his sides until she feels the jut of his lower ribs and then she curves her hands round either side of his torso.

"I don't think I have any choice," he jokes, as he dips his head and catches her lips, giving them a brief kiss before he pulls away again. "And I'm not embarrassed to admit you make me very happy." He presses his lips against her growing smile and hums into her mouth with joy. She has to break away when her grin becomes so big that she begins laughing at his comical display of affection, his aim of making her giggle complete.

"I need to go," she states between gasps as she regains control over herself, a pocket of laughter popping on her tongue as she plays the scene over in her head. "Before we start something that we can't finish."

"Who's to say we can't?"

"The doting mother in me who needs to get back home."

He tips his head in kudos, giving her a smile that breaks into a grin. "If I offer you a lift, does that mean you can stay longer?"

"No, but I'd accept the offer." He huffs out a chuckle and scoops his keys up from the couch, holding out an arm to signal the way to the door. "After you."

They ride in silence for the first few minutes, both of them playing the events of the past half hour over in their heads. Connie brushes her fingertips along her lips, ghosting over the taste and imprint of him there. She gazes out of the window at the dark roads, the light from streetlamps reflecting in puddles and the raindrops dribbling down the glass casting a spattering of shadows across her face. It's about ten o'clock at night, Grace should be in bed by the time she gets in, she'll have to go in and kiss her goodnight. Then she suddenly remembers,

"How did you break into my house?" she turns to him and asks.

"I found the spare key."

"How did you know there was a spare key?"

"You have a daughter to think about now, remember? I knew you'd have one somewhere in case of an emergency. Was just a matter of finding it."

She grunts in response and turns back to the window.

"I don't require much maintenance," he declares after a few moments. "You don't need to worry about me." She offers an understanding and grateful smile to him, which he mirrors.

When they pull up outside her house, the babysitter's car is parked beside Connie's on the drive. She unbuckles her seatbelt and then spins round to face him, her gaze one of enthusiasm with a glimmer of mischief. "Can you do something for me?"

"What would that be?"

"Come inside with me, smile and nod," is all she says before clambering out of the car whilst he turns off the ignition and gets out with a little hesitancy. As they reach the front door, she glances back at him and then pushes the door open, rolling her shoulders. She goes into the living room and he follows at her heels, very uncertain about what's happening. As soon as she speaks he can tell that she's in one of her many Connie modes, this one seems to be Professional Connie, Classy Connie.

"Hi," she drawls, greeting the babysitter. The lady smiles and then pauses as she notices Jacob. "Bridget, this is Jacob," Connie says. He shakes the woman's hand as she introduces herself as Grace's sitter. "He's my partner."

The look of surprise that flits across Bridget's face mirrors his own quite well.

"Oh, I didn't realise you had a man, you're a dark horse Mrs Beauchamp!"

Connie gives a dry chuckle, which only Jacob seems to pick up on, and they exchange conversation about the details of Grace's day. A few minutes later and Connie's showing the woman out.

"I'd really appreciate if you didn't mention this to Grace," she mutters to the woman. "She currently has so much to adapt to, after America."

He hears a few murmurs of understanding, the click of the door shutting and then Connie returns to him with a snarl on her face.

"I'm sorry, she's just been pestering Grace and claiming that I'm incapable of having any relationship."

"And what's she based her claim off?"

"Probably that I'm a _bitch_ , but mainly my job. Apparently being a doctor means you can't have a love life."

"You're fiery but it's an attractive quality, as long as I'm not the one getting singed."

She slaps his bicep as she walks past but throws a grin over her shoulder. "I'm just going to check on Grace."

When she quietly nudges Grace's bedroom door open an oblong of light grows across the room from the bulb in the hallway, providing enough brightness to make her way to her daughter's figure in bed without tripping over anything. She bends her knees and softly swipes the hair from Grace's face before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. The girl doesn't stir. As Connie leaves, she casts a glance back at her sleeping daughter and then closes the door.

As she plods down the stairs, Jacob turns to watch her and gets up from where he'd perched on the sofa to meet her in the middle of the living room.

"She's asleep," she informs him as she slips into his hold. "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep this quiet for a bit."

"You and I? Okay, Sweet Cheeks."

"I'll tell her soon." He pulls her head to his chest and rubs a hand across her back. She steps away so she can look at him. "Thank you," she says, generally grateful. He bends then, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on her mouth. She lets him and returns the gesture. Sweet. Innocent. Then she pulls back and her head automatically turns when she catches something out the corner of her eye.

Grace.

* * *

Guilt sinks into her features and makes her heart drop, a weighted feeling hanging heavy in her chest. Grace stands there, eyes wide. Connie opens her mouth in an effort to explain but only silence leaves her lips.

"Is this what you meant by a 'bit'?" Jacob mutters, slightly behind her now. No, this was not what she meant when she said she would tell Grace. This is not what she meant when she said she wanted to keep the relationship quiet for a _bit_.

"Grace, darling," she begins, stepping forward and holding out her hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Con," Jacob says, taking this as his cue to leave. He watches her briefly to make sure this is the right thing to do, not wanting her to think he's running at the first sign of trouble. But the gentle glance she sends him reassures him that his intentions are understood and he heads to the doorway. Grace steps further into the room to let Jacob past when she suddenly turns to him.

"Jacob?"

He lowers his hand from the front door handle and swivels to face the small girl. "Yes?"

"If you promise not to hurt my mum, then you can be her boyfriend."

He strolls a few steps nearer to her, places his large hand on Grace's shoulder and looks her in the eye, "I promise, Firecracker."

She gives a small smile and then her face turns serious again, "But Mum can't see you on Sunday nights, that's when we have our TV time."

He nods in acknowledgement, "I think we can work around that." He looks at Grace's mother then, giving her a private wink, then squeezes the young girl's shoulder before heading out the door.

Once he's gone, Grace turns to her mother and sucks in her bottom lip, causing a dimple to dip in and out of her cheek, and then Connie holds her arms open and Grace goes into them.

"Thank you, Sweetheart," she murmurs into the top of her daughter's head. "That was grown up of you."

Grace shrugs and leans back in the strong arms around her and looks at her mum, "I don't mind Jacob. He's cool."

Connie smiles and then goes about getting Grace back into bed.

* * *

He's a little confused by tonight's events. Wholly delirious with contentment and puzzlement. His brain feels like it's spitting little sparks every time he tries to wrap his head around what had unfolded. But he's afraid to enjoy the moment, actually, because it feels like this could be too good to be real. There must be a catch, or a secret waiting to burst free. However, he doesn't like to think that Connie would pull something like that, he knows she wouldn't.

Whilst the gesture had been a surprise to him this evening, it wasn't completely unexpected. It may seem incredibly contradictory, but he'd known that something more would happen between them. Something intimate and private. Positive or excruciatingly negative he hadn't been sure. But he had known something was coming. And there it had been. The timing and location baffling him, to say the least.

He still has questions, still has some things he needs answering with there being no obvious question to ask, but he knows that with time the answers will reveal themselves.

A tiny part of him, the self defensive part of him, had wanted to tell her that he couldn't be with her, because he was afraid that she would drop him as she had the last time. He'd wanted to try and encourage a guarantee to leave her lips, one that would ensure that even if the relationship did end again, he'd be provided with a justifiable reason. But then he'd been scared to push it, push _her_ , because he knew the courage she'd had to summon in order to even turn up on his front porch. He was afraid her insecurities would cause her to take the chance of a new start off the table, and he'd be left with no more than he'd started with.

He's not usually been a man to brood over a woman. He'd fawn, charm and please but that was often the extent of his relationships. Connie, however, had had him crawling desperately over that line. He recalls the sight of her that first day… He'd just warned off Rita - now his boss, a thought that makes him smirk - and had started directing the swarm of medically trained personnel surrounding Karen on the bed. Mrs Connie Beauchamp, wearing a flattering black blouse tucked into a rather well fitting pencil skirt, her stethoscope hooped around her neck and nestled on the swell of her breasts, had sauntered in. A true beauty. He, on the other hand, was a cocky, qualified nurse who spent his time pumping iron and working his body in order to reach new strengths, both physically and mentally. His brazen personality had been tamed since his first shift under Connie's watchful eye in the ED. The over confident persona had been his way of protecting and defending himself when his friends, and their friends, turned to him for medical attention, back when he was in a neighbourhood that gathered its roll of injuries through a trade, he assumed, was pushing against the limits of the law. But now he's simply a charmer, with confidence and wit. The narcissism dropped, despite his looks still remaining.

When he gets home, he turns off the living room light from Connie's visit and heads upstairs to bed. It's where he'd been earlier, when she'd come calling, so the covers were thrown back and the crumples in the sheets distortedly appear in the shape of his body. He clambers back in and spins his phone between his thumb and middle finger before switching it on in front of his face. He squints against the harsh light, as his eyes had already become accustomed to the darkness now settled in the house. He considers sending Connie a text, hoping that things had gone well with Grace after his departure… No harm in checking, right?

He taps out a simple message, asking of the current mood status in her household. He expects the response to either be _angry_ , _content_ , or a half-and-half order of _content_ and _stroppy._ The _stroppy_ referring to Grace, of course…

* * *

She, too, slides beneath the covers when Grace is settled again. She lies there, on her back, staring at the textured ceiling, when she hears her phone buzz against the surface of her bedside table. She reaches her hand out and feels around before grasping the device in her fingers.

 _How's the Beauchamp household atmosphere holding up? x_

She unlocks her phone and goes to reply when she sees the text already written in the response box. It's the one she'd prepared the other night but had never actually sent. She's surprised it's still there.

 _My timing probably isn't great, but I do want to talk about this. Unless your wish has come true and you've learned to hate me._

Reading it now, she recalls the argument they'd had in her office the same day she'd had to usher him out of her house after he'd broken in the night before. It seems like a futile attempt at broaching reconciliation, even a little feeble as she imagines herself saying those words aloud.

She deletes that text and then types a new response,

 _Positively balmy X_

She sends it with a smirk tilting her lips. And then remembers something else,

 _Are you in tomorrow?_

A few moments later her phone vibrates in her hand,

 _That's reassuring news! And Rita needs me to do cover in the afternoon, so I'll be in from 1._

Some pleasant daydreams swirl in her mind as her eyelashes settle on her cheekbones.

* * *

He'd slept well last night. Really well.

So as he saunters into the ED for his shift, his spirits couldn't be soaring any higher and it doesn't go unnoticed by his colleagues. Louise grumpily comments on wanting a dose of whatever he's had if it means her shift finishes quicker. On his way to his locker he pokes his head around Connie's door.

"Reporting for duty, Boss." This earns a sultry smirk from the chestnut-haired Clinical Lead who sits at her desk, pen in hand, papers scattered over the surface.

"Staff Nurse Masters, I'm glad you could make it in on time today," she quips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," is his sarcastic response before sharing a secretive smile with the woman at her desk and continuing on his way, shutting the door after him.

It's nearing the end of shift for many of his colleagues, the ones that had been in since this morning. He brings his bottle of water to his lips as he approaches the nurses' station, checking in on any incomplete tasks. Robyn and Louise are stood there, their backs to him as he nears.

"I don't think it's any coincidence that both Connie _and_ Jacob come in with a grin they can barely keep off their faces," Robyn comments.

Louise places her hand on her hip. "Yeah, well, if it means it keeps Connie sweet then who am I to complain?"

Jacob pointedly throws his bottle in the bin beside them, making the bag rustle and the bottle hit against the plastic walls. They turn to see him walking away to check on patients.

Once he's restocked a few cubicles he decides to give the apparently _speculative_ audience something to talk about. He goes to Connie's office, knocks on the door and goes in.

"Hey, Sweet Cheeks," he greets. She looks up from the seemingly endless paperwork that still covers her desk and puts her pen down.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I think your department are onto us," he chuckles. Her eyes widen briefly before her features return to neutral.

She waves a hand in carelessness, "Let them talk, Jacob."

His eyebrows raise and he moves further into the room, letting the door shut from where he'd been holding it pushed to. "That's a different tune to last night."

"Grace knows, I don't really care who else does now. Unless you do? Care I mean."

"Can't say it's their business, so why should we care?"

She nods her head in agreement and signs her name on several sheets. "What time will you be finishing?" she asks.

"I'll be done in a bit, the person I'm covering for should be returning soon."

"Grace has swimming tonight…" she mutters, glancing up through her fringe as she leans over the papers.

"Does she indeed?"

"Mmmhmm… That means I have a good two hours free."

"Well, then. Yours or mine?" he asks, coming to perch on the corner of her desk.

She sits up now and looks at him, almost eye level. "Shall I bring the food?"

He chuckles and nods, "What time shall I expect you?"

"Five, I should be done with this by then," she informs him, signalling to the sea of, what appears to be excruciatingly boring, papers and files.

"Okay, see you then." He gets up, squeezing her shoulder, before leaving the room.

Half an hour later and Rita locates him to tell him that he can go. He smiles and heads to the break room to retrieve his things. When he's sifting through various items in his allocated locker, someone clears their throat behind him.

"Jacob," they say, a little startled to see him there. He turns to face his shorter, redheaded colleague who looks at him with her puppydog eyes.

"Robyn," he greets, before returning to his things.

"About earlier… Louise and I were just messing around-"

"No you weren't," he states cooly. I'll make her sweat a bit first, he thinks.

"I'm- we're sorry. We didn't mean anything by it. You know what I'm like. It was just something exciting to talk abou- I've had a _really_ long shift, I got bored-"

"Forget it," he says, turning back to her now, a smile on his face. "The boss lady and I don't mind being a bit of department gossip."

"You… you told Connie? Wait, so it's true then?"

"Yes, I told Connie. She has a right to know why people go hush when she walks in a room, don't you think? As for that second question, I never said it was true."

"Oh. So you're not seeing Connie?."

"I didn't say that either. I guess you'll never know," he quips, grinning. This is too much fun. She relaxes a bit then, rolls her eyes and goes to the kettle. He bids her a good evening and then leaves to go home and neaten the place up ready for his impending guest.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I know, I know, it's been a while. But we've got to keep morale up in these desperate times! This is just a short chapter in comparison to the others. But I hope you like it nonetheless! Just a little disclaimer; I have absolutely no idea what the procedure is in regards to the investigation of Connie's actions, so I made it up as it's a minor part of the fic... oops._

She knows he'll understand her being late, he saw the work she had to do it wasn't just a ten minute job. She pulls her car up outside his house and walks as fast as she can in her heels to the front door then knocks. She quickly runs her hands through her hair, trying to put loose strands in place after her excursions throughout the day. He swings the door open and greets her with a smile, stepping aside to let her in.

"Sorry," she begins. "I got caught up in the office."

"That's alright."

She turns to him with a guilty expression then, a genuine apology glimmering in her eyes. "And I didn't bring food. I can go and get some if you want-" she motions to head back to the door but he takes her wrists and pulls her to him as he dips his head to press his lips against hers.

"Food, or you? _Food_ or _you_?" he contemplates out loud, casting a smirk down at her.

"Honestly, I can go and get some. What do you want?"

He wraps his arms around her lower back and tugs her forward so that their thighs meet. She leans back, liking the contact but wanting to look him in the eye as they talk. "Stop fretting, Sweet Cheeks."

"I wanted to see you first, but I _can_ go and get us food."

He kisses her passionately then. The force of his mouth colliding with hers sends her hands reaching for his biceps to stable herself and she presses her stomach tightly against his. She feels the flex of his muscles beneath her fingertips as he tightens his embrace and reacts with a roll of her hips over his crotch.

"You're eager, Pussycat," he smirks, dipping his head further to kiss her jaw and trail his lips down to her collarbone.

"Why don't we just skip to dessert?" she suggests, her eyes closing briefly.

With that said, he runs his hands down her arms and then grips her dainty fingers and leads her towards the stairs.

* * *

"I'd offer for you to come back to mine for dinner," Connie says as she pulls on her skirt. "I just don't want to force it all on Grace so quickly." She turns to face Jacob lying on the bed, who'd been watching the delectable sight of her shimmying into the tight fitting pencil skirt. His eyes linger at the level of her hips as she spins to look at him. He'd been listening to her words, of course, but there had been sights that had momentarily distracted him. So as she awaits his response, he moves his eyes up her body as she now slides her cream blouse over her head, slips her arms into the short sleeves and fastens the lone button at the collar; the design meaning he gets a delightful peek at her cleavage as the material bares a slim oval of flesh from the collar to midway down her sternum.

"I understand. I know I can be intimidating," he smiles, sending her a wink.

"Thank you. Sorry I've left you hungry."

"I don't know about you but I feel rather sated," he states, shrugging.

"Oh hush! I'm sorry I've left you _dinner-less_."

He shuffles to sit up now, leaning against the headboard. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'll manage."

Having put her heels on she bends down to plant a kiss on his lips, getting held there longer than she'd planned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course." He leans over the bed to retrieve his discarded underwear when Connie places her small, cool hand on his shoulder.

"I can show myself out," she murmurs, unable to restrain herself from kissing him again.

When she gets home, admittedly a little later than she'd hoped, Grace and Bridget had just got back from swimming, Gracie's hair wet and plaited. Once the babysitter's left, mother and daughter immediately agree to get into pyjamas and have a quiet night in front of the television. It doesn't happen all that often, after all.

Grace had chosen a movie, an animated classic, and sits staring at the screen as the climactic scene of the plot plays out. Connie casts her gaze from the TV, to her fingers fidgeting in her lap, to Grace's focused face. She feels… relaxed. So why is she antsy?

"Mum?" Grace asks suddenly beside her, startling her slightly. Connie looks across at her as she turns her head away from the television to look at her mother. "You know Jacob?.."

"Yes…" she replies hesitantly.

"Does he love you?"

Connie stiffens momentarily, shocked by her daughter's bluntness and enquiry. "I thought we were watching the film? You don't want to talk about this now."

"I don't care about this bit," she says, waving her hand in disregard. "Do you love him?"

"Gracie…" she chides. But upon seeing her daughter's, undoubtedly genetic, stubborn stare she bites her lip in consideration. "It can be difficult for children to understand… Jacob and I- sometimes… sometimes it's complicated."

"Is it complicated for you?"

 _No, not really_ , she thinks.

"I think it would be to you."

"I got twenty out of twenty in my numeracy and literacy tests, I think I can understand."

Connie can't help but smile and squeeze Grace's shoulder before falling back into the padding of the couch cushions. How does she give her eleven year old daughter an answer that satisfies her curiosity? How does she childproof the intricacies of a relationship, not to mention hers and Jacob's?

"Jacob and I are very close," she decides on. She didn't feel particularly comfortable discussing this with her daughter when she and Jacob had not even exchanged the words of adoration themselves, yet.

"But you're not in love?"

"Being in love is… important, special. But it's not the only important thing in a relationship. Think of your best friend. You're not in love, but you still have fun together and still enjoy each other's company. You may have _a_ love for them, but it's a different kind of love. I love you, which is different to how I love Jacob and different to how I love Charlie. But it all makes a relationship."

"So you _do_ love Jacob?"

Connie pauses. Replaying her words in her head. She had said that. She feels close to him, fluttery even. Her heart full and light and throbbing. They'd certainly shared beyond the average boundaries of platonic love; bodies and pillow talk, nights and sheets.

In her head it became startlingly simple; she loved him.

* * *

As the next day begins, Jacob is amongst the majority of the population that can't wait until the weekend. He's hoping he can persuade Connie to take some time off and enjoy a break. He goes to work, as usual, and smiles at her as they brush shoulders in the corridor; she's already busy with a patient.

As he goes about his day, he contentedly ponders what the weekend could hold. Whether it would be romantic, or family fun or just a pyjama day. Although he strongly questions whether Connie in pyjamas was a thing that could exist in this reality. One, does she wear them? And two, could he keep his hands off her if she did?

He chuckles. He was being hopelessly immature. He knows she owns them, he's seen them in her suitcase and under her pillow. But he honestly cannot recall a time when she wore them. She must have? Hmm… Yes, save that for a day when he's not about to stitch up a gash on someone's forearm.

At lunch he finally gives in and doesn't hold himself back as he walks towards her office, he only stops short when he notices someone, in a suit, sitting at her desk. He removes his hand from the door handle and looks through the glass in the door, noticing how she's listening carefully, nodding at intervals but otherwise staring down at her thumbs that are undoubtedly fidgeting in her lap. There's a point when she glances up and sees him stood there, but she acts indifferent and looks away again. He takes this as his cue to leave.

It's nearing the end of his lunch break when she comes into the break room, her face stoic but her eyes letting him in on her slight fury.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"I just had Ric in my office, followed by a trust member, what do you think?"

"Was it about last week?"

She nods and plucks a crisp from the packet when he holds it out to her.

"They're just doing their jobs-"

" _Following protocol_ as they kept putting it. I know they have to, doesn't make it any easier though."

He's surprised, internally, that she admits to being scared and upset about it. That little girl had died in her care, there were regulations that needed to be followed as part of an investigation. But he knows that whilst Connie comes across as all-business, she's feeling this deeply. So no doubt part of her is taking people's swaying trust personally.

"What happens next?"

"They look into it, although in my opinion that should have happened and been completed by now."

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"Nope. I've given my statement and story of events, they have the files and evidence. I just wait."

"In that case, what are you doing this weekend?"

She gives him a pointed glance. "Grace and work."

"You've got to give and take, Con," he smirks, knowing that this will earn him some sarcastic response.

" _Low maintenance_ you said!"

"A guy has needs." With the rhythm of the conversation he hopes she knows that he's only messing around, but before she can reply he continues. "I'm joking, I'm joking. I was wondering whether we could do something. You and me, and Grace if she wanted."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. What do you fancy? We could have a film day? Or go to Western?"

"What, the seaside?"

"Yeah! Grace could ride a donkey and we can all go in the arcade. There's the beach, the promenade. There's loads for us to do."

Despite the cooling of the weather and the swift change of the seasons Connie can't help but feel giddy at the prospect. "What about Saturday?"

"Perfect," he states, slipping his arms around her waist and tugging her to stand between his legs as he sits on one of the stools at the table. She rests her hands on his shoulders and picks at a thread with her thumb and forefinger.

"I can't wait," she murmurs, leaning forward to kiss him, for once, both of them are at the same height.

It's only when Robyn walks in that Connie steps out of Jacob's hold. The young nurse grabs a biscuit and leaves just as promptly as she'd entered, waving a hand in the air, "I saw nothing!"

The two continue looking at the door a few seconds after she's left and then turn to one another, Connie's cheeks flush with lighthearted embarrassment but a snicker escaping her lips nonetheless.

"You're a bad influence, Masters!" She calls out as she, too, walks through the door. She can't help but throw a grin over her left shoulder.


End file.
